So, I went to my first-ever grownup office party the other night. Quite a change from what I’m used to. See, in the teacher world, Christmas parties mean that at least one person will show up in a tacky Christmas sweater and/or matching jewelery. And usually the conversation centers around school and kids.

This was culture shock. Not only was I able to actually get dressed up (in professionally appropriate attire, of course) and spend an evening with adults, but there was assigned seating at dinner. By income. Now, that’s an entirely different story for a different time – but let’s just say that it was a week of drama trying to figure out the optimal seating arrangement for all involved. I (not-so) jokingly offered to sit in the kitchen.

Why do I bring this up now? Because it relates to my real point. I usually don’t post pictures of myself here because I’d rather you create your own picture based on my writing. BUT, a trusted friend has recently told me that I’ve gotten too thin. And not in a good way. I’ve been telling my friend that they are full of it, but then I saw this picture from Friday’s office party. And dammit, my friend’s right.

It’s something about my eyes. I can tell if I’m too thin by the way they look. Well, that and the creepy-stringy arm. So, in a nutshell, I’m gonna start eating all those Christmas goodies that I’ve been avoiding, thinking that my desk job isn’t giving me enough exercise.

Moving on. R and V have been asking me what I really want for Christmas. They’ve tried to get me to make a list like theirs. Don’t get me started on this. Their lists are carefully-crafted masterpieces that took weeks of effort, carefully folded and sent on their way to the North Pole. What can I say? They’re overachievers.

My list, on the other hand, is a lot harder to write down. Sure, it would be nice to have world peace, happy and healthy kids and the perfect Martha Stewart house. And of course I want my kids to be happy and healthy. But beyond that it gets embarrassing. Because what I really want is impossible. Impossible and embarrassing. Impossible because it’s never going to happen. Ever. Not in a million years. And embarrassing because it’s a selfish thing. Now I fully admit that I’m an only child and capable of all the personality traits that come with that. Including a tendency towards brattiness. To quote Meg Ryan, sometimes ‘I just want it the way I want it.’ And I’m not talking about material things here – at least not this time. So I’ll quit here while I’m still ahead.

On the bright side, my shopping is DONE! So I can focus on enjoying the joy of the season along with secretly laughing at all of the last-minute shoppers with that crazed look in their eyes. Not me. Not this year!